When Our Worlds Collide (Our Worlds #1)

by Lindsey Iler

“How can they be so flawless all the time? Guys in Michigan sure never looked this good,” I murmur as I walk toward the high school. Between their towering height, untamed hair, and entrancing eyes, someone has to be pumping hormones in the locker room water. The varsity baseball team surrounds my best friend, Violet. One of them swings her around in the air as if she’s weightless. Laughter rings through the parking lot. Even though I’m envious, I understand the way the guys react to her. Violet’s a force of nature. Even the upperclassmen fall prey to her

charm. Her deep, red hair and hypnotizing, green eyes make it impossible to say no to her. Since I moved to Tennessee at the start of this school year, we’ve been inseparable. I’m the new girl, and she’s the only one willing to show me an ounce of compassion. She befriended me when I needed someone on my side. Now her primary focus is to break me out of my shell, but so far, her quest is a failure. I’m not here to cheer on my boyfriend like most of the girls sitting on the metal bleachers, wearing their boyfriends’ number on the back of their minuscule t-shirts. Everyone knows them as ball chasers. Their exposed midriffs are a dead giveaway. Violet refuses to call herself one. Time and time again, I point out the ways she fulfills all the necessary criteria to be a part of the coveted group of future

ex-wives. While watching Violet’s shameless flirting, I almost collide into a situation I would prefer to avoid. Out of pure curiosity and some form of horrid punishment, my gaze locks on the two of them. I should go to a different door or at the least turn away until they finish mauling each other. They haven't noticed me yet, and neither seems too rushed to come up for air. I'm invisible to these people. No one turns to acknowledge me as I flitter by every day, but I’ve grown to live with the reality. She’s pinned against the metal door. His hands roam her perfect body, slipping beneath the fabric of her tight s...

about. My only thought, an embarrassing one, is I wish someone would kiss me like he’s devouring her. As if it’s the kiss to end all kisses. Heat creeps up my cheeks as I watch something that will never happen to me in this lifetime. Jealousy is a normal human response, I remind myself. Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not miserable, but at this point of my adolescence, I’m not content, either. As a freshman in high school, I want to fit in like everyone else. Being asked on a date or to a party is a priority for most girls my age, but I let it all go, writing it off as a fairytale that will never come true. I know. I’m pathetic. I...

Here, I'm the new person all the girls ignore. The freshman guys in my class are too busy drooling over upperclassmen and Amanda Drims with her cackle of freshman followers, to notice someone as boring and mundane as me. To sound more self-deprecating than I already do, I’m forgettable. The only reason I've come to the baseball field tonight is for the school newspaper. Mr. Randall, the freshman English teacher, all but forced me into newspaper class after reading my essay on Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. I like being creative, so the decision to join was a no brainer. Plus, my participation will look promising on my college applications....

to notice me. My grades, as stellar as they are, are not enough to make me stand out in the busy crowd of America’s elite. These kids’ parents are alumni who purchase new wings in different corners of the campus to guarantee admission. My parents graduated from a state college. I can’t buy my way in, so I have to depend on my hard work to make it. No wonder no one notices me, right? The makeout bandits are too busy to see me approach their compromising position, daydreaming about the what-ifs of my life. "Excuse me," I mumble as I approach the door. They cling to each other even though I’m right ...

He pushes her to the side, almost trapping my hand beneath her bony body. "You've got to be kidding me," I whisper as I rub my temple in frustration. He hears me and laughs through their locked lips. His smirk grows with my irritation. So happy he finds this amusing. That makes one of us. He faces me, acknowledging there are other people in this world. The smile on his face sends a chill up my spine. I've seen him in the hallways, but never had the nerve to speak to him. Stories follow him everywhere he goes. He’s out of everyone's reach, on a different level than the rest of us. I’m not prepared to be this close to him. Boys like him are untouchable. People like him can't be bothered to give anyone they deem beneath them the common courtesy most human beings deserve. Instead of using their popularity for good, they laugh at those who aren't in their social circle. Most dads would call them Grade-A douchebags. Graham Black, one side of the duo in front of me, gets away with his behavior for obvious reasons. Even as a freshman, his chiseled features are the kind underwear billboards feature. A head full of sexed up, brown hair paired with light brown eyes make it easy to forget w...

Amusement curls his lips at my blatant approval. "Do you need to get by, sweetheart?" Graham speaks with a condescending, yet endearing confidence. The girl lucky enough to be the one twisted around him like a pretzel stares at me over his shoulder. Her glare could make a strong willed girl duck in fear. I recognize her, but don't know her… technically. She’s a senior on the cheerleading squad. Their tangled limbs say more about Graham than her. He’s in the top tier at school, even as a freshman. Every girl wants a piece of him. It’s pathetic how they all follow him around, waiting f...

to another doorway, that would be great." He leers down at me as if he knows something I don’t, leaving me feeling self-conscious. Waiting for a response is my only option. I watch him, almost challenging him, as I tug on the hem of my tank top. I’m either incredibly brave or utterly stupid. "You know what, Marissa? I think we're done here." Graham unhooks her arms from his neck, glaring at me like I’m in on some grand, elaborate scheme of his. Marissa sneers at me. She isn’t happy to have her claws out of his back. Few girls would be. “But…” Marissa protests in a whiny tone. "I said… We. Are. Done. Here." Graham’s bark possesses an air of authority she has no choice but to listen to him. His sharp tone makes me jump.

How is it ok that he talks to her like that

I hate his apparent amusement at my reaction to him. As she walks by, she shoves her shoulder into mine. Make no mistake. She proved her point. As I reach for the door, Graham opens it for me. I slide past him into the hallway, and he follows me. The click of his cleats on the tiled floor gives him away. When I pass the locker room, I expect him to go in, but he doesn’t. "Do you need something?" I spin to face him. Graham stops and leans against the wall. He acts like following me isn’t anything out of the ordinary, when in fact, it’s anything but normal. "What's your name?" Graham quizzes as he plays with the belt around his pants. "I don't think I've ever seen you around here." For crying out loud. That's just perfect. If I didn't already feel invisible, he just hammered the last nail in my social pariah coffin. "You probably haven't," I answer, resentment oozes from my words. "Why would you?" I say the last part under my breath. Hoping to put as much distance between us as possible, I sprint down the hall. Graham doesn’t take the hint. He pushes off the wall and catches up to me. His heat slams against my back. "I'll ask again. What’s your name, beautiful?" I roll my eyes at the generic pet name. I’m not his type. What’s his angle with this? A million scenarios run through my head where Graham would speak to me, but I can’t come up with one reason Graham should. I’m glutton for punishment, so I take the bait. “Kennedy. What’s yours?” I ask as if I’m clueless to his popu...

stand my ground and appear more confident than I am. Graham’s eyebrows squeeze together. “You’re fucking with me, right?” He laughs straight from his gut like I’ve just told him the funniest joke he’s heard. My body’s reaction to his laughter infuriates me. Some laughs are simple and understated and draw little notice. Graham’s is hypnotizing and mind-clouding. How’s it possible for someone to laugh at me and I still find the person attractive? I hate myself right now, which explains my sweaty palms and the heat rising in my cheeks. “What makes you think I have any clue who you are? You didn’t even know...

open. It snaps shut with his slip in demeanor. “That’s what I thought.” I spin on my heels and leave him staring at my receding shadow. The obvious pep in my step shows my pride for standing up for myself. I never speak up or out of turn, especially to someone like Graham. My job is to fall into the backdrop, to not be heard or seen. For a split second, I know what other girls must feel around guys like him. Confident. I jerk open the door to Mr. Randall’s classroom, flick on the lights, and search for the camera batteries. As I tear open the package, I reach up to turn the light off and run into a solid rock wall. Instinct has me bracing myself. An amused Graham smirks down at me as I pull away from his firm chest. “Don’t you have a game to play?” I glance at my watch with irritation, delighted with how on the ball I am with the witty comebacks. This never happens. “You’re going to be late, you know.” “I’m Graham Black. It’s nice to meet you,” he says. He extends his hand to shake mine, ignoring my ploy to get rid of him. He’s close enough for me to see every eyelash as he blinks down at me, waiting for a response. I attempt to walk around him, but he slides to the side to block my exit. I try my luck once more, but run right into his chest. My hands connect with his chest again. Flustered doesn’t begin to explain what sweeps through me. Quit touching him, then. That’s twice now. The contours of Graham’s chest and the ripples of his abs press against my hands. I’m not pre...

I feel u girl

but even I can lust over the idea of ripping off his uniform to expose what’s poorly hidden under the tight fabric. He’s tall, close to a foot taller than me, or at least it feels that way. Being this close to him makes me feel small, overpowered, and a slight fear that’s a fraction exhilarating at the same time. I wonder if everyone feels the same way around him. People gravitate toward him as he marches down the hallway. The power he has over this town is strange. “It’s nice to meet you. Now, can you please get out of my way?” I ask, my teeth grinding together. Secretly, this little game we’re playing amuses me. I don’t understand it, but for the first time, someone other than the nerdy, geeky type has shown me attention, however misplaced it may be. His eyes burn into me as I walk

Of course it does

out of the classroom, down the hall, and out the back doors. On my way to the field, I tell myself not to look back. He’s close. The clicking of his cleats on the asphalt gives him away. I sense him before I see him. An unnatural shiver runs up my spine as he draws close. “Stand over there, Ken,” he whispers and points to the fence along first base. His lips are close to my ear. “Since you don’t seem to know who I am, I guess I’ll just have to show you.” I face him, sure my expression is one of awe and contentment. He’s already walking out to the pitcher’s mound. As he throws out a few practice pitches, my eyes remain glued to him. I slide the batteries into the camera and snap a few shots of Graham as I make my way over to Violet. “What was that all about? More

importantly, why is Graham Black talking to you? Did he whisper something in your ear?” Violet rattles off her questions. Her suspicious green eyes scan between the two of us. I should be offended by her reaction, but I’m not. I’m too confused to be upset with her. “Your guess is as good as mine.” I shrug and put the camera back up to my eye. I tell myself to point the lens anywhere else, at any other player. Through the eye of my camera, I watch Graham the entire nine innings. Something about him makes it hard to look away. Every pitch he throws seems in slow motion as if his life depends on it. The ball dances fro...

He’s not something I wan...

“He was naked, and his girlfriend just stood there and watched,” Mark explains. His head shakes in disbelief at what happened over the weekend. I laugh, not giving a fuck if I’m disrupting anyone, as usual. Even after Mr. Stevenson clears his throat a handful of times, I still can’t find the need to quiet down. Mr. Stevenson should know better by now. Craig, the idiot he is, hooked up with a freshman’s girlfriend at a party. The kid didn’t find humor in his innocent girlfriend losing her virginity to someone other

than himself. They never do. Craig pulled his dick out of the naïve freshman and didn’t bother to put pants on before kicking her boyfriend’s ass. Craig has no shame. He never has, which is why his antics don’t surprise me. If it was socially acceptable, the guy would walk around all day with his dick in his hand. Craig makes the rest of us appear to be respectful gentlemen. Numerous nights, his crude, sexist humor lands Mark and me in the pants of distraught girls. He’s the perfect wingman. “Where the hell was I when this all went down?” I tap my pen on the table. From the look of disdain on Mark’s face, I know exactly where I was. Mark rolls his eyes, confirming my suspicions. “Balls deep in Amanda, if I were to take a guess,” he mutters under his breath.

During the summer, Mark and Amanda were hooking up, but based on their heated exchanges, something happened. Whenever they breathe the same air, anger washes off him in waves. Last week, she slapped him in front of everyone, giving us enough reason to ignore the name-calling and backhanded comments. I glance up to see Mr. Stevenson frowning at me. “Mr. Black, can you tell me the difference between the Republican and Democratic parties here in the United States?” he asks. Mr. Stevenson eyes me, knowing damn well I don’t know the answer. The only teacher in school who doesn’t give me any slack, his sole mission is...

options for survival in this class. School’s complicated for me. Because I’m not the easiest student, teachers don’t want me in their classrooms. Most of my time is spent talking shop with my teammates and working my way into my next conquest’s pants. I rarely have any clue what the hell we’re studying. Contrary to what they want to believe, I’m not a complete idiot. Deep down, everyone knows, but no one bothers to say anything. My family’s wealth and my skill on the pitcher’s mound allow me to skim by with the bare minimum. The staff understands I’m the school’s only chance at winning a state championship. Most of their families work for my grandfather, whic...

Ms. Crandall gives me A’s on homework I don’t remember doing, just for throwing a few compliments her way. Somehow, I have perfect attendance in all my classes except Government. There’s no surprise there, though. “Umm…” I don’t know the answer. Dickhead Mark shoots me a shit-eating grin. Everyone stares at me, expecting my usual smart ass remark. Doing so will land me in detention, and then Coach will kick my butt in the form of laps around the field. Like most great coaches, he finds sick pleasure in our pain. Sophomore year was the first time he forced his preferre...

Darcy Williams. When she propositioned me outside of the locker room, I accepted, like any other red-blooded male would have. Darcy was a gorgeous senior with the longest legs imaginable and outrageous green eyes. They were exceptional to gaze into while she was on her knees looking up at me for approval. The tip of my dick beat against her tonsils, her gag reflex nonexistent. She gave the most incredible head I’ve ever had. I got caught sneaking back into school after the final bell, earning me a week of detention, and running laps while the team watched. They laughed, rec...

I wonder what she’s up to now. “Are you daydreaming, Mr. Black? How about you pay attention to what we’re talking about instead of reliving what happened over the weekend. Sound like a simple enough idea?” Mr. Stevenson barks. Asshole. Mr. Stevenson drones on about the question I failed to answer, his whiny voice boring me to tears. How is it possible for him to make me look like an idiot in the first twenty minutes of class? My grandfather could pull strings to get him fired. The next time he chooses to make an example out of me, I’ll get his ass canned before he can utter the words unemployment...

girl’s name? I talked to her once, way back in freshman year. Since I had no idea who she was, I called her beautiful. It’s true. She’s beautiful, but she walks the halls like she’s too good for any of us. Her withdrawn demeanor makes it hard to appreciate her appearance.

That’s how people see her?

“Kennedy, why don’t you take the seat next to Graham? Maybe you can fill him in on the difference between political parties. He could use the help,” Mr. Stevenson instructs in his usual dry monotone. I roll my eyes in annoyance, gaining laughs from Mark and Skylar. I’m pretty sure those two are hooking up. Her dad owns a successful recording studio in Nashville. Even though she’s gotten me concert tickets a time or two, I would never deal with her shit. I don’t care how beautiful a girl. I’m

not groveling at her feet for any reason. How he puts up with her snobby, bitchy ways is beyond me. After hearing my name, Kennedy huffs toward me. She’s not thrilled about having to sit beside me. A rather entertaining snarl disfigures her lips. Every step closer, her scowl grows, as if I’m the social outcast. What have I ever done to this girl? Maybe I slept with her and never talked to her again. That’s doubtful. ‘Virgin’ is lit up in bright lights above her. If that didn’t give her away, the halo above her head would do the trick. I tend to stay as far away as possible from the innocent type. Girls like Kennedy are too much work for me. It’s a lot of hand holding and meeting the parents before you even find out what kind of panties she prefers to wear. Some guys like the thrill of the chase, which is exactly what Kennedy would be. Too. Much. Damn. Work. Whatever I did, (which I’m sure it’s something because I’m great at pissing off the girls in this school), couldn’t have warranted the blatant glare she shoots at me. If looks could kill, I’d be dead in a matter of seconds. She walks behind my chair and slams her books and notepad on the table. With a horrified expression on ...

head as quick as it comes. Kennedy’s long, dark brown hair reaches the bottom of her shoulder blades. The perfect curls almost look natural, but I’ve seen plenty of girls get ready in the morning to know it takes some work. Her hair is the type I imagine running my fingers through and giving it a little pull. Her small frame with the right amount of curves is enough to catch my attention. My mind wanders back to freshman year when Kennedy got an attitude with me before a game. She intrigued me. Hard not to be when she was the first girl not to fall at my feet. I followed her into the school. Since I knew I was annoying he...

as she was. I’m not an idiot. Enough girls have thrown themselves at me to know when someone’s checking me out. She did a thorough once over that day. We haven’t said another word since. I glance her way, hoping not to get caught in the process. She’s too busy listening to Mr. Stevenson to notice me. Her pen taps on the table, and her leg bounces to the same rhythm. I can almost hear the song she has in her head. A few of the guys on the baseball team have said things about Kennedy as she walks by them in the hallway. It’s never loud enough for her to hear. If she had, I doubt she would’ve turned to acknowledge them. She doesn’t pay much attention when her nose is stuck inside a book. Mr. Stevenson calls on me one more time. Of course, I don’t know the answer. I need to pay better attention if he’s going to be such a colossal douche. As I struggle to come up with a response, Kennedy clears her throat and taps her pen on the piece of paper on her desk. Something is written in bold, black ink with a circle around it. She nods to the front of the classroom, encouraging me to answer. “Fiscal policy?” My lack of confidence is evident. My answer sounds more like a question and skeptic...

As I’ve said before, I’ve noticed Kennedy in passing. Everyone knows she intends to be a spectator instead of a participant in school. I’ve never heard anyone say he’s gone out on a date with her or asked her to a dance, which surprises me. Most guys would line up to attempt to crack this nut. In an understated way, Kennedy’s fucking gorgeous. She doesn’t have to try. She’s one who wakes up looking that good. Most girls push her to the side, not even attempting to get to know her. In our small community, it’s easy to see how they all perceive her. Even though she’s been here a couple of years, she’s the ‘new girl’. Most everyone has been friends since kindergarten and don’t take kindly to newcomers. They’re assholes like that. I spend the rest of the hour trying not to look at her. Guess who

Told ya

loses that battle? This guy right here. The bell rings and everyone jumps from their seats, Kennedy included. When our eyes lock, she forces the same smile I recognize from freshman year. Hers stops before it reaches its full potential. A pearly white smile is all I need to get what I want. Most girls grin from ear to ear to lure me in, but not Kennedy. She doesn’t care who I am. With her, I get no emotion, but indifference. She intrigues me. Kennedy’s the type of girl you aren’t sure whether to inhale all at once or hold your breath until you can’t take it anymore. She’s a breath of fresh air.

“Are you ready for this?” Violet smears the bright red lipstick across her full lips and smacks them together. As she primps in the mirror, she pulls her curly red hair into a mock up-do and turns to me for confirmation. “Red’s my color, right?” “It looks beautiful. Now, please, hand it over.” I yank it from her grasp. I know what she’s trying to do, but I’m beyond nervous at this point. “I don’t know if I can do this.” I rub a hand over my collarbone to push back my growing nerves. Violet jerks me around by my shoulders. “You’re going to be fine.

I’ve seen you dance, and trust me, you're incredible. This should be a piece of cake, babe. You dance all the time in front of big crowds.” “It’s not the same.” Dancing in front of people who love me is different. This crowd will be less forgiving. My classmates aren’t programmed to admire everything I do. High school doesn’t work like that. You are either in or you are out, and I’m most definitely out. The dressing room doorknob bangs against the cement wall, causing a loud echo. Violet and I jump. William, tonight’s stagehand, tells me I have five minutes until I’m needed on stage. Violet grins and waves in his direction. William nearly swallows his tongue. He flees, leaving me alone with extreme anxiety and my encouraging best friend. “He’s sort of cute, right? Needs to get that stick out of his ass,

though,” Violet says. By now, I know she isn’t searching for a response from me. She just has to say it out loud to discard the idea from her head. Violet scurries around, packing her things before heading to the auditorium. Since I was old enough to realize how nerve-wracking performing in front of people can be, I have my own routine before I step onto the stage. Her knowing I need these last few minutes alone is one of the reasons I love her. She isn’t like me at all, but somehow, she manages a perfect fit in my life. “Make sure to kick some ass out there.” Violet grins as she retreats from the room. The door is almost closed w...

scan through my playlist until I come across what I need. The song changes every time I perform. Back when this started, I was ten and listening to N’SYNC on my Discman. I press the volume button until my eardrums quake. “Attack” by 30 Seconds to Mars blares through my headphones and relaxation seeps through my body. In these few moments before I hit the stage, this is exactly what I require. My eyes drift closed as my muscles unwind. I was born to dance. A feeling deep down in my bones hits me right before the music starts. Fear and insecurity disappear, and the colony of butterflies in the pit of my stomach flutters away. Medit...

makes me pause the music. “Kennedy, you’re up,” he shouts through the door. I drop my iPod into my bag and swing open the door. He waits against the wall, annoyed by how slow I move. He huffs under his breath. “I got sidetracked. Sorry.” “You’re fine. It’s a full house tonight.” He shrugs as he ushers me toward the stage. Violet’s right. William is adorable in a nerdy sort of way. He’ll go to college and become oddly good looking, like most of the guys before him. They peak late, but make up for it by the time they walk across the stage at college graduation. I wait until he draws the curtains to take my place on the stage. The mahogany floor squeaks when I step out from my hiding spot. Nausea threatens as the lights

Yep I know the type

dim. The hushed whispers of the crowd reach me as I blend into the dark backdrop. The butterflies come back with a vengeance. The curtains jerk, and for a split second, I consider bolting to the dressing room to hide. Running off the stage seems like a better option than humiliation. The spotlights pierce the dark and cast me in a yellow glow. Too late now. And then, I see him. Without understanding why, my eyes travel to him as I wait for the music to start. Graham sits with the same guys who always surround him, hoping to become a fraction of who he is. I don’t know their names and don’t want to. Right beside him is Amanda, his girlfriend, at least for the time being. Everyone knows his relationships don’t have a chance in H-E-double hockey sticks of survival.

Until y’all s

At least, none of his previous ones I’ve had the pleasure of seeing in the hallway has. They deteriorate in some public display of angst and teenage heartbreak. The girls cry, begging him not to do it. (Whatever ‘it’ is.) Graham always seems distant and unaffected by their tears, cold and callous, unattached from anything and everything around him. There’s a sense of vulnerability as I stand on the stage. Graham stares up at me, and a feeling burns deep in my stomach, only to disappear as quickly as it comes. It just flutters away, and now, I can’t break my eyes away from him. He knows it, too. Did he just wink at me? My body betrays me. Along with the heat radiating through my veins, my cheeks burn a noticeable shade of pink. As the music pours through

the auditorium, Graham leans forward in his seat, fascination in his eyes and intrigue parting his lips, watching me ...

“I can’t believe we have to sit through a second act of this bullshit,” I yell to Mark on the opposite end of the aisle. Mark knows the last thing I want is to entertain Amanda, which explains the shit-eating grin he sports because she convinced him to trade seats. I was annoyed at first, but I know not to bite the hand that feeds me. Asshole. “It hasn’t been that bad.” Amanda smacks me on the arm. I don’t know why she wanted to come in the first place. She hates these things. If she isn’t the center

of attention, she has zero interest. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” I close my eyes and slump in my seat. The auditorium lights dim to signal the start of the second half. Hopefully, it’ll be over quicker than the first. Mark crushes his program and throws it at me. “Kennedy Conrad’s up next. Don’t we have Government with her?” he whispers. At her name, I sit up a little straighter. It’s a weird reaction to someone I don’t know. “What’s she doing?” I ask no one in particular as I open the crinkled program and scan the list to find her name. Dance? Interesting. The velvet curtains part, and in the dark, the silhouette of who I assume is Kennedy appears. She looks nervous. Somehow, out of all of the people in the crowd, our eyes meet.

At first, I think it’s my imagination. Maybe her parents are right behind me, but then recognition washes over her face. She is looking at me. Her eyes widen in surprise as if she’s trying to work things out in her own head. I wink at her, and I swear I see her blush. Could she be any more sweet and innocent? Music fades into the room, and bright lights bathe her in a soft, yellow glow. She wears those black pants I consider to be God’s gift to man. Sequins make the black tank top stand out against the rest of her dark outfit. Her feet are bare, and her hair is in a loose braid with a few pieces breaking free. Katy Perry’s “E.T.” plays through the sound system. A little more provocative than I would expect from her, but a nice choice. It does the job and piques my interest.

I bet

When she takes a deep breath and exhales, I lean forward to see

the rise and fall of her chest. I need a better perspective of what is about to happen on the stage. Once again, she intrigues me as she floats across the stage. For a split second, I think it’s someone else dancing. The way Kennedy moves is intoxicating. With every graceful dip and turn, her emotions spill onto the stage, leaving her exposed, bare, for the entire auditorium to see. I’m not the only one to notice. As she dances, the room falls silent. The sheer beauty in the fluid motion of her body holds me captive. I can’t look away for fear of missing a single second. I may have misjudged the type of person Kennedy is. Why doesn’t she walk ...

the room gazes at her in wonder. The shy girl isn’t going to be able to hide any longer. She has been labeled noticed by everyone, even me. Kennedy stares in shock when the awestruck audience stands in appreciation. Her cheeks redden as she bows, then rushes off the side of the stage. I don’t understand why seeing her go disappoints me. That box needs to stay closed for now. Mark catches my attention and mouths, “Damn.” “No shit,” I say a little too loud. “It wasn’t that great.” Amanda rolls her eyes and grabs my hand. The gesture feels territorial. I’ve never been one to pepper my steak before I eat, but if it makes it better for her, then so be it. I’ll play along for now. “We going to Craig’s?” she asks. A sex-filled glint dances in her eyes. “Yeah, but I’m not staying long. I have things to do tomorrow.” The

Yep true

lie rolls off my tongue. I don’t have anything planned for tomorrow. More times than not, Craig’s parties get wild, and I’m not in the mood to deal with bullshit tonight. “What do you have to do tomorrow?” Amanda questions. I have no intention of inviting her over to stay, and Amanda’s annoyed I’m changing our usual routine. She doesn’t like to feel rejected, which is where this is headed. “Just things with my mom. Not that big of a deal.” I jerk my wrist to loosen her hold. I don’t understand why girls need to hold hands. One or both ends up sweaty. It’s gross and pointless. “Whatever.” She slumps in her chair, folds her arms over her chest, and pouts like a child What am I doing with this girl? Most of the time, Amanda annoys the shit out of me. On the other hand, she’s a sure thing. I can’t

argue with that kind of logic. Amanda is silent for the rest of the talent show, which is more a gift than a punishment. The rest of the acts are mediocre at best. No one holds a torch to Kennedy. Something makes her hard to dismiss and difficult to f...

As soon as I leave the stage, I bend over to catch my breath before heading to the dressing room. I do not intend to stick around for the rest of the show. The last thing I want to deal with is everyone’s eyes on me. After all, they stood up and clapped, so that has to mean something, right? It’s the most attention any of them has given me since I started freshman year. Once my things are in my bag, the back entrance to the farthest parking lot is my destination. Against my better judgment, I turn around and head to the auditorium. Regret hits me as I sneak down

the aisle, trying to blend into the darkness. Violet watches for me and flags me down to where she sits. I love her, but she’s overzealous when it comes to embarrassing me. Instead of ignoring her, I close the gap between us in hopes of stopping her flailing arms. She sits in the middle aisle. I have to walk right past Graham and his army of followers to get to her. “Kennedy, you did amazing. See, it wasn’t that bad,” Violet screeches, catching the attention of everyone around. This is what I wanted to avoid. “Thank you, but you don’t need to shout,” I whisper through a forced smile. I slouch down in the worn-out, fabric-covered seat. I don’t know why I do it. Against my will, something has me looking over at Graham. He jerks his hand from Amanda’s grasp, and a twinge of happiness shoots

through me. A part of me desperately wants him to notice me, but I’m not sure why I care. He never turns around, though. The show is over in less than thirty minutes and I’m ready to bolt before anyone says anything to me. As we walk up the aisle, Violet elbows me in the side. “You want to go to Craig’s with me tonight? Please, please, please,” Violet begs. I hate when she puts me on the spot. Amanda overhears Violet. “Kennedy’s not going to Craig’s. Why do you even bother asking? We all know it’s not her scene.” Her voice is sharp as if the idea of me showing up bothers her. “Just because you can dance like a strip...

Graham slides past us to get to his friends. He stops dead in his tracks, bringing me an inch from colliding into his back, and turns to face us. I take a deep breath, surprised by our closeness and bounce backward to put distance between us. “If they danced like you, then I’d be spending my weekends at the strip clubs.” Graham winks at me (Again!), then turns to catch up with his friends. Heat creeps up my neck. Amanda groans under her breath in irritation at her boyfriend’s comment, but follows behind like an obedient puppy. I want to say something to stand up for myself, but Graham handled it for me. Sh...